What it Feels Like to Be a Part of Chicago’s Polar Bear Club

New Year, New Series. To kick off the new year, I’m going to start writing, “What it Feels Like” stories. This is the first of an occasional series.

Two guys pose before making the plunge

What it Feels Like to Be a Part of Chicago’s Polar Bear Club

The air is frigid. It is so cold that you can almost see your breathe freeze mid-air. The temperature the night before dipped into sub-zero, creeping back up to the single digits,  before reaching a balmy 12 degrees.  It’s a typical Chicago winter day, bitter and cold with a ground covering of snow. The cold makes you do crazy things or want to do crazy things. The warmth of being inside sedates you at first and then causes many to feel like hamsters trapped in a cage. Sometimes, you just have to be a little wacky to keep things fresh.

A year ago I wanted to make my maiden voyage into Lake Michigan’s icy waters but thought better of it. I was four months out of back surgery,  even for my daring nature, I figured I should wait.

Now a year and four months out, with one Chicago Triathlon a distant August memory, it seemed time. Plus my friend Claire Bushey, a fellow True/Slant blogger, led the charge. We had discussed it last year, but now the time was right.

Most were still sleeping off New Year’s Eve when I picked up Claire and her boyfriend, Josh, from their home at a quarter past 11. At high noon a sea of half naked bodies would approach the lake, but for now we were just trying to wake up and keep warm.

My father, an old pro at this, had joined the Sheboygan, Wis. polar bear club on a dare from my mother some 30 years ago. He likes to tell the family it was zero degrees when a bunch of rowdy men dunked not once, not twice, but three times into Lake Michigan shouting “it’s not cold.”

His advice to me: wear shoes so your feet don’t freeze to the snow when you come out of the water and cover your body, especially “essential parts” in Vaseline. The jelly, which many triathletes use in open water competitions, allegedly provides a small layer of insulation, much like blubber does for a seal.

By the time our trio reaches North Avenue Beach it is a parking jam. Hundreds of people draped in parkas and towels litter the parking lot. (We opted not to take the train or a bus to ensure we have a warm place to take shelter in after our mighty dip.)

Before our plunge: Brad Flora, Dawn Reiss, Claire Bushey and Josh Buerman

Windy Citizen’s Brad Flora joins us along with his intern, Len Kody, who he coerced into jumping. The five of us huddle on the beach as the masses begin stripping down to bare skin. Women in bikinis, men in speedos and trunks cover the beach. Squeals and cackles of laughter rip the air like an ice carver before an enthusiastic crowd. It’s a Frozen Florida.

A squadron of synchronized swimmers decked out in 1940’s-esque floral bathing caps much like the ones Esther Williams once wore, fall into flank behind us.  A guy next to us strikes up a conversation since he came with a posse of women who have opted not to jump.

synchronized swim team

Josh jokes about doing this to see the “hot chicks and headlights” which is quickly followed by a vicious kick to the shins from Claire.  In reality, there seemingly is a point where nipples invert from the sheer cold and I feel I’m there. For the first time in my life, I’m very thankful for every ounce of fat on my body.  I’m also glad I lathered my body, minus my face, in Vaseline.  Whatever protection I slathered on hours earlier now sits in a thin greasy layer coating my skin.

Brad comments about how he’s just glad his fellow roommates weren’t home so they didn’t see him with a jar of Vaseline “greasing up” in the kitchen the night before.

Len Kody, Dawn Reiss, Claire Bushey, Josh Buermann and Brad Flora

Our towels and blankets are stretched out on the beach. We begin to jump around and try to stay warm. Claire poses like a champ decked out in her bath suit. Unsure if there will be a bullhorn to signal the charge, we wait and we wait until it is noon. Seeing no group call, we decide to jump on our own. First Brad and Len undress and run into the lake. The rest of us are about to, but Claire can’t find her camera so we hang back.  Upon finding it, we start to make the run. I strip down to my swimsuit with nothing else on but a pair of water shoes. First I go, then Claire and Josh.

My feet hit the edge of the water, seemingly blockaded by a fortress of soft snow. I try to take a step and my leg instantly sinks into slushy ice up to my knees. I try to move but I can’t as the slush begins to fill the space around my feet and knees. Like quicksand, I sink further. I rock back and forth. Finally I break free and run into the lake.

Three-foot chunks of ice float by. It is so cold I let out a blood curdling scream. I want to run back to my car, but I can’t stop now.

I run a few feet further and go under.

My body freezes. I am numb and can’t move. My heart feels as if it has just skipped a beat. It is hard to breathe because our bodies have an inhale reflex whenever we go into cold water. I try to run back but everything feels like it is happening in slow motion, mechanical and dream-like.  My mouth is frozen in an o-form. I try to say something but nothing comes out.  Back to the fortress of snow I run with icy water slicing my skin. I try to climb the slush wall back to the beach. One step and my foot sinks. The masses are on their hands and knees climbing up.

I do the same.

It scrapes my legs into a bloody mess, a red rash runs up my thighs from climbing the fortress of snow. My wet hair freezes into Pippi Longstocking chunks sticking out on all ends. I’m shivering, but ecstatic. I forget about taking pictures. It is too cold for that now. I try to focus on the seemingly difficult task of putting one damp foot and then another into my yoga pants.  I pile on every ounce of clothing and one of the blankets.

We rush back to the car where Claire quickly proclaims she is  glad she did this, but never wants to do it again, ever.  We laugh. There is something therapeutic about doing something just for the sake of doing it, especially at the start of a new year.

* If you want your chance, check out the Lakeview Polar Bear Club’s ninth annual “Celebration of Shrinkage” event noon Jan. 30 at Oak Street Beach.